


All in Good Business

by Writer_Apprentice



Category: Civilization (Video Games), Sid Meier's Civilization: Beyond Earth, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Planet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Business, Crossover, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, First Contact, Gen, No Prime Directive, Science Fiction, Space Colonization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Apprentice/pseuds/Writer_Apprentice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swindle decides to lay low for a while at his usual hideout, but finds his getaway planet already occupied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not so Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize in advance for any inaccurate use and/or portrayals of slangs, popular cultures, idiosyncrasies, and socio-politics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swindle doesn't do much in this chapter except observe and being judgmental about the humans. We mostly get an introduction of a few of the _Beyond Earth_ cast.

The last thing Swindle expected to find in this sector of the galaxy was actual _sapient_ life.

 

He wasn't concerned of the potential harm they would pose on him, if any considering their diminutive size; they barely came up to his knees, and primitive technology. He was more bewildered by the fact that in all his stellar cycles of visiting this planet, there was never indication of _intelligent_ life becoming a possibility. Granted that the _native_ lifeforms did exhibit something that Swindle would, begrudgingly, admit as something that didn't have its processor just set on multiplying.

 

He had a first-servo experience of how the lifeforms on the planet behaved, and how they _barely_ tolerated his presence. Everything was fine as long as you didn't go out your way to bother them, which Swindle certainly wasn't going to do. What would be the point? If they didn't have so much as a linguistic syntax, then they certainly didn't have a mode of currency. Now driving through one of their nests was a different matter.

 

It was one nest, for AllSpark's sake, and it blended too well with the surrounding landscape. How was _he_ supposed to know they were housing eggs when he ran his vehicle mode right over it? Honestly, the native lifeforms of the planet overreacted a tad bit over a few broken eggs when everything that squawked, chittered, flew, and stomped came at him with a vengeance.

 

It was like the entire planet was out for his spark as the creatures pelted him with unspeakable green fluids and nipped at his skidplate while he fled. They only stopped when a brute of theirs launched his frame into the nearby ocean. After that harrowing experience Swindle decided to keep his operations isolated in a cave to minimize contact.

 

Despite the lack of welcome, the intergalactic arms dealer frequented this planet because it served as his secret hideout when deals went bad or the Autobots had picked up his trail. It also didn't hurt that he stored some of his wares here. Sure he had his personal storage dimension, but there was an old Decepticon saying of not storing all your ammo in one warehouse.

 

Additionally, Autobot territory ran around the sector, which made getting here extremely difficult without triggering an intergalactic incident. Someone like him could traverse undetected through Autobot space, but that's because he made it his business to memorize patrol routes and blind spots to ensure his shipments didn't fall into the servos of those uptight mechs. He also had no fear of the Autobots actually coming to this planet since they forbade anyone to land on planets with a high presence of organic life.

 

Now while other places, like Quintessa to name a few, provided _much_ better services to a Cybertronian like him (such as all the oil he could drink), planets untouched by sapient life had their charms. Especially when Quintesson hospitality can go so far. Swindle certainly didn't want to be on the other end of Quintesson trade, which often than not involved enslavement. This planet served as his secret getaway.

 

Well, he couldn't call it a secret anymore thanks to the _non-native_ lifeforms. He only assumed that based on how out of place they appeared on the planet as they mapped out every klik of its surface. Thankfully his little _cave_ of operations hadn't been discovered by the aliens, both native and non. That didn't mean the non-native organics wouldn't eventually find this place and capitalize on his stash.

 

He saw how they purposefully scoured the planet, salvaging resources from cylindrical pods that were scattered all over the world. If Swindle didn't know better, he would hazard a guess to say they were a colony. Which probably meant that their home planet wasn't far away. That would, unfortunately, put them close to Autobot territory.

 

That is _if_ Autobots even cared to make contact with a new species in the galaxy. They hadn't done much, if anything, in galactic affairs for nearly 300 million years. Swindle personally believed it was because the Autobot Commonwealth was still sore after getting in a _little_ scuffle with the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere. Then top that off with a civil war following shortly after.

 

A new spacefaring species did mean involving the Galactic Council and their community, but Swindle was more than happy to keep this new species in the dark. There was no need to scare the primitives, and he certainly didn't want to spoil a profitable opportunity. A species that was in its infancy of space colonization was perfect to dazzle with something low-tech while he gave himself a hefty earning without revealing much.

 

Sure it _sounded_ like he was scamming the poor things, who were doing their hardest to survive in an extraterrestrial world, but they'll be happy getting their servos on something new regardless of its quality and function.

 

First, like every experienced businessbot, he needed to assess his clients before making a move. Luckily his cave gave a strategic view of one of their cities and he was in no hurry to leave. As long as he wasn't burning credits, Swindle had all the time in the universe.

 

 

)))((((()))))(((

 

 

Of all the things Hutama enjoyed before the Seeding; a good, cold tinny during a mild night at Bali was what he missed the most. Regrettably, those comforts were far behind them. Light years away to be precise, and probably several meters underwater considering the lasting magnitude the Great Mistake would have on Earth.

 

Now instead of enjoying a nice cup of lintong coffee from Sumatra, Hutama and those who came on the expedition were on a planet that, to put it quite mildly, was alien in all regards of human imagination.

 

Everything from the ground to the air _felt_ exotic in a way that human language, for its complexity and rich development across many millenniums, found itself speechless at the profound environment the colonists set foot on. There were no words, only emotions that conveyed both the wonder and terror the humans experienced. Some were eager to explore and document every dimension of the planet, and others bemoaned all that they had left.

 

Hutama was more intrigued at the possible ways of chitin being a fashionable wardrobe choice since nothing on this planet resembled either fur or silk.

 

The people needed materials to protect themselves from the elements, and multipolymer fibers weren't growing on the trees of this planet. Adding to that ever growing to-do list was establishing a sustainable supply of food and producing enough fresh water to keep them from dying of thirst (no consensus from the science bloc on whether or not the water here was potable through basic filtration, so colony water it was lest they all get infected with a brain-eating amoeba).

 

There was so much that needed to be accomplished that the Polystralian began to wonder if his supporters back on Earth were too zealous in their approval of him. It wasn't like he _himself_ made points to the contrary concerning his competency to leading an expedition, even on _his_ own Internet channel for God's sake!

 

Speaking of which, he should resume "Question, Minister" once the colony could stand on its own. It was bad enough that the populace was scared witless at everything that went bump in the alien night, but added with fact that they were truly disconnected from the Internet was rubbing salt into the wound.

 

It would do the colony good to see their illustrious leader flash a genuine smile (none of that politician crap) while he juggled informality with serious discussion topics. All of which were neatly sandwiched by his lighthearted sarcasm and liberal use of flashy production.

 

The crowd did love good pyrokinetics. And federal transparency. He couldn't forget that part.

 

For now, Hutama was in his office with eyes focused on his transparent computer monitor. His eyes oscillated from one side to the other as he reviewed the details of a trade agreement. The words of the document were projected on the crystalline body of the monitor, their light glowing sharply as letters and figures embedded their forms on the screen.

 

The agreement appeared sound, but the Polystralian wanted to inspect everything with great scrutiny. Especially when their neighbor and trading partner was the American Reclamation Corporation, headed by one resourceful and ambitious hardliner by the name of Suzanne Marjorie Fielding.

 

Correction, _CEO_ Fielding, as she liked to be addressed.

 

If there was one thing Hutama was grateful for since planetfall, it was that trade, no matter how far flung they were in the cosmos, was destined to flourish as long as there was someone willing to exchange goods for a tidy profit.

 

It was one consistent trait of humanity he was quite intimate with.

 

Seeing nothing else out of the ordinary, Hutama decided to contact Suzanne to make their agreement solid. If everything went well and both parties agreed to hold their end of the bargain, then everyone would benefit from the cooperation.

 

One press of a button on his keyboard and his comlink went to hail the CEO. It took a few seconds before the hail was picked up and a dark bronze-skinned woman appeared on the monitor.

 

" _Hola_ , this is CEO Fielding of the Ameri- oh, Hutama, I was just about to contact you," the woman started when she noticed who it was. "I assume you're satisfied with the details of our trade agreement?"

 

"Satisfied and ready to go, _sahabat_ ," Hutama said, flashing a cheerful smile at Fielding.

 

He often got the impression that the woman erected walls while in his presence, and he could have sworn one of her temples twitched whenever he was being his informal self. There was something distinctly oaken about Suzanne's mannerism, which Hutama blamed on her unyielding formality.

 

This placed a noticeable distance between them, which Hutama was struggling to hurdle across. He wanted to be on hospitable standing with the CEO, but so far it felt like he was barely making a break.

 

"That's good to hear," Fielding spoke evenly as she folded her hands. She returned the smile, but the expression never reached her eyes. "I'll have your Trade Convoys loaded once they arrive with the merchandise as per our agreement."

 

Spoken in true business dress and code.

 

"Glad to hear that, _Suzanne_ ," Hutama said, purposefully ignoring her title. It felt obsolescent seeing that they were colonists out in the new frontier taming the wild unknown. Again, he swore one of her temples twitched, but that _smile_ of hers never faltered. "Well you have a good day, _sahabat_."

 

Suzanne gave the Polystralian a curt nod before the comlink was cut from _her_ end.

 

Absent of company, Hutama allowed himself a sigh and placed a hand over his eyes. He needed to find a way to gain Suzanne's respect and trust. It was fortunate she agreed to work with his colony, but Hutama was certain it wouldn't last.

 

Trade only prospered if your client had the belief that there was the possibility of them benefiting if no other methods could achieve a better result. Hutama did his homework on Suzanne and looked into her business practices. She was not one to take prisoners if she reasoned they only served to be extra baggage, and Hutama certainly didn't want to find out what her shrewd mind would come up if she felt his colony was nothing but an eyesore.

 

Having two people adept in economics sharing a planet was a pressure cooker waiting to explode. Though the two of them were presently on cordial terms, Hutama predicted things might start looking like a vicious chess game if he didn't win the support of ARC's CEO. Suzanne would no doubt slip in subtle loopholes to increase her benefits, which would force him to retaliate for the sake of his colony's welfare.

 

He wasn't above getting his hands into the economic dirt. It was something he was well-versed in and prepared to do. That was how business worked; outperform the competition and be smart about when to stick out that leg to trip them over. Hutama, however, much preferred the sustainable route of making friends you can count on for being there when you're ready to sell.

 

If only he had _some_ leverage that appealed to Suzanne.

 

Running a hand through his gunmetal grey hair, the Polystralian decided he was holed up in his office long enough. A visit to the microbiology department sounded nice. Hopefully they found a viable specimen of yeast on this world for his future brewery. One that could make a decent batch and not kill a human with just a whiff, or turn them into mindless zombies. The last two options would definitely ruin his promise of setting up a brewery in the colony.

 

Beer good, death by mycotoxin bad.

 

Hutama chuckled to himself and shook his head as he left his office, still puzzled as to how he was elected to lead the Seeding despite all attempts to throw his eligibility out the window.

 

Fame certainly had a way of coming around to bite back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"There is a historical idiom which states, 'What you don't know can't hurt you.' It does not apply to fungi."_  
>  \- Hutama, _We are All Destined to Prosper_
> 
> **Glossary**  
>  _Sahabat_ (Indonesian/Malay): (close) friend, friend (person whose company one enjoys)  
> 
> 
> _Tinny_ (Australian slang): can of beer


	2. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally meet!

Swindle spent several of this planet’s solar cycle silently observing the non-native aliens, mostly learning a great deal from intercepting their primitive comlinks (surprising how such a backwater species managed to even leave their planet). A majority of it was trivial, such as calling themselves Polystralians, who seemed to hail from a collection of sovereign states called the Commonwealth of the Pacific (which Swindle was relieved to find that aside from sharing one word, acted without the conservative pompousness of the Autobot Commonwealth). If the name of their colony was any indication (who in Spark’s name came up with a name like _Freeland_?) the organics appeared to be the enterprising sort. Definitely his kind of crowd, but Swindle was more interested in singling out the most influential of the lot, and the designation of Hutama was frequently mentioned.

 

Undoubtedly the leader, Swindle had seen this fashionably-dressed (he was no aficionado of aesthetics, but the organic certainly had taste) individual multiple times as he operated the colony with authority that was neither Autobot nor Decepticon in manner. Hutama didn’t appear to adhere to a chain of command, but instead balanced bureaucracy with personal oversight for many of the colony’s operations while seeking council with the professionals. The… _Polystralian_ (the name rolled uncomfortably over Swindle’s glossa like a feeding tube forced through between his derma) obviously had a knack with the public as even the most skittish of workers was soothed by his presence alone. If Swindle was to be honest, and he would deny ever admitting it, this Hutama had charisma that could give Megatron a good run for his credits.

 

Definitely a beneficial business partner for Swindle, especially if the intergalactic arms dealer intended to continue using this planet as a hideout from nosy Autobots and bounty hunters. And maybe, just maybe if the Polystralians proved useful, he could strike a deal with them to ensure his protection in return for some illicit technologies. Swindle was sure he had a few to spare, and ones that the black market wouldn’t miss.

 

First he needed to have a face-to-face with Hutama, which wasn’t difficult seeing how laughably easy it was to infiltrate Freeland. The organics had no means of detecting spark signatures and what security forces there was was nothing more than a ragtag group armed with simple projectile weapons. The minimalist style and size of their weapons made them look like a sparkling’s plaything, and Swindle doubted they could take even a flake off his paint job. They would probably have a better time chucking the things at him, but that was a large stretch.

 

Still no excuse for him to walk in his robot mode and cause a panic. That was more Blitzwing’s flair when he was being Random. The intergalactic arms dealer found one of their unused Trade Convoys and integrated its form into his frame. Although too utilitarian for his taste, Swindle put up with it as he kept his optics on Hutama while keeping out of sight.

 

\---

 

“And you’re _certain_ there’s nothing we can do about it?” Hutama inquired, voice stressing his demand for alternatives.

 

“Yes, sir,” the soldier on his screen replied, helmet and visor obscured all facial features. “Preliminary reports from the science department indicates that the… _Siege Worm_ will just burrow underground if we attempted a ranged assault, and, given its size and power, I highly advise against a direct military strike.”

 

“And as long as it decides to nest under our mines, no one can come even a meter to salvage anything,” Hutama concluded, leaning back in his chair with fingers crossed over his chest.

 

Though Hutama kept his face still to conceal his displeasure, the soldier picked up a slight irritable note in the Polystralian’s voice.

 

“The plus side, sir, is that we’ve managed to evacuate the civilians before the Siege Worm entered our borders,” the soldier offered some comfort.

 

Well there was a silver lining in the situation. Hutama vowed to protect all those under his care while he was heading the colony, and he be damned if a single human fell on the alien planet due to his negligence.

 

“And for that I thank you,” Hutama expressed his gratitude, leaning forward to deliver a well-meaning smile to the soldier. “Please keep me updated on the situation.”

 

“Will do, sir,” was the soldier’s last reply before Hutama cut the connection.

 

Hutama liked nothing better than to give the Siege Worm, and possibly the entire planet, a few colorful swears in true Commonwealth fashion. Maybe throw a few stomps on the ground with his all-terrain exo boot for good measure. The planet deserved it for being so _creative_ in its ways to ensure every colonization effort went as painfully and horribly as possible.

 

First he needed to actually observe the situation from the colony’s observation deck. Afterwards, if there was still daylight, pay the evacuees a visit for morale sake.

 

Reaching the observation deck by elevator at the far end of Headquarters, the metaphorical brain of the colony, Hutama arrived at a hexagonal room high above the colony. Behind the safety of tempered glass walls was a spacious view of the landscape. Excluding the fact that the planet was nothing but feral wilderness that could kill a human ten times over, the place was a sight to behold. Though a far cry from Earth’s natural beauty (or what remained of it preserved in media and dwindling parks), the planet was an unending stretch of untouched land.

 

Lush forests blanketed the rolling hills, giving the illusion of a verdant sea whenever the wind swept against the canopy to rustle the leaves in waves. The forests bled into sweeping, vibrant grasslands with reeds that flowed in tandem with the nearby river meandering its way to the ocean in lazy arches. And while Earth was once called the blue marble, this planet adopted every hue and shade of green imaginable. Everything from the mist that obscured the distant plains to the water had a green tint. Even the mountains that crowned the horizon pulsed with veins of emerald-colored minerals that they had yet to name.

 

If only they could enjoy all this splendor _without_ those damned aliens, Hutama thought sourly. He noted a plume of smoke that was ruining the picturesque view like a physical rip in a photo.

 

The guard on duty in the observation deck sensed the purpose of Hutama’s visit and wordlessly handed the Polystralian a pair of binoculars. Hutama gave the soldier a thankful nod before taking the binoculars to focus on the source of the smoke. His eyes captured a scene of utter destruction as a gargantuan worm tore up what used to be a relatively new mine. If the creature wasn’t destroying his attempts at colonizing the planet, Hutama would have appreciated the effectiveness and beauty of the worm’s spiral body to barrel through the earth like a child playing in the sandbox.

 

An explosion erupted from the mining site as the Siege Worm managed to disturb a combustion engine in its quest to pulverize the ground to feed. It appeared unfazed by the disturbance as the tube of flesh and chitin continued to practically _swim_ through the mess of dirt and rock. The sudden light, however, caused Hutama to flinch away.

 

“Bloody hell,” he uttered.

 

That was enough to persuade the Polystralian to avoid considering military action. If even explosives couldn’t halt its path of destruction, then nothing in their current power could. The only option was to sit around and wait till the Siege Worm decided to move on. Hutama never felt so powerless in his life.

 

The Polystralian returned the binoculars to its owner and thanked the soldier again before departing.

 

With the elevator speeding back to the surface Hutama checked the chronometer and decided he had enough daylight to spare a visit down to the medical wing. It was a stroke of luck they managed to get everyone out just as the Siege Worm was breaching through the terrain.

 

The Polystralian felt his feet press firmly against the floor and pressure concentrating on his legs as the elevator neared the ground floor and began to slow. The elevator made a cheerful _ding_ before the metal door slid out of the way. Hutama stepped out and into the cavernous passageways of the colony. The passageway was supported by great, arching metal beams that made him feel like he was imprisoned within the chest cavity of a titanic whale. He would know since he walked under the skeleton of one at the Australian Museum in Sydney.

 

A shame that the last cetacean went extinct 170 years ago, which was 30 years after the Great Mistake. Bad enough that there was barely enough food for them to sustain a healthy population, but the climatic changes and nuclear radiation was the final nail that sealed them in their coffins. He wanted to meet one since hearing of their sociability and intelligence. Sometimes they would sing songs to thank humans who would offer them fish. Now that would have been a sight to see.

 

Standing alone Hutama patiently waited for a spare ride. They were far from a future dominated by flying cars. Despite the inconvenience, Hutama didn’t mind public transportation. In fact he used it quite a lot before and after his rise to political power. The transportation networks back at the Commonwealth allowed him to mingle with the populace, much to the chagrin of Protective Service. Not his fault really, he was no good with some of those _rempong_ politicians in the Commonwealth Parliament.

 

Of course he had to mingle in disguise as his face was the most recognized in the Commonwealth, which added an entertaining challenge. But here the alien planet they were all in this together just to survive. Those days of hanging out in the coffee shops of Jakarta or pubs in Adelaide to listen in on his constituency were long gone. Hutama was just another person paving a fearfully unknown path for humanity’s future.

 

Populist history be damned.

 

An incoming vehicle drew the Polystralian out of his thoughts. He was grateful enough to receive transportation that he failed to notice its unique coloration, the purple-tinted windows, or the fact that Trade Convoys were not the usual modes of transportation in the colony.

 

“To the Clinic, please,” Hutama instructed as he got in from the passenger end and buckled himself to the seat.

 

The vehicle drove off and there was a moment of silence before Hutama realized the vacant driver’s seat.

 

“What in God’s name?!”

 

“Oooh, so sorry we had to meet like this,” an amused voice vibrated through the interior. “But I needed to find a way to catch your attention, and, well this seemed like the best way to make an entrance, don’t you think?”

 

The disembodied voice spoke in fluent English, but there was a… _synthetic_ quality. It was too crystalline clear to be human.

 

“Look, mate, I don’t know who you are, but you can quit the prank,” Hutama spoke hotly, his body pressed firmly against the door like a cornered cat with eyes wide and glancing wildly.

 

“Prank? I assure you, my good sir, that I come in peace,” the voice replied. Hutama noticed the dash flash a soft purple light with every syllable the voice spoke.

 

“Like hell you are!” Without warning the Polystralian threw himself out of the still moving vehicle, causing him to roll across the pavement. That was one irreplaceable Thai suit silk ruined.

 

Once he got his footing, the Polystralian gunned for the main road.

 

Swindle was grateful that he managed to get them into a secluded alley, and the colony’s small population meant that there was little chance anyone would happen upon their meeting. He rushed in his vehicle mode and swerved to blockade the Polystralian’s exit.

 

“Now let’s not be hasty here,” Swindle tried to placate the other. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

 

Before a very stunned Hutama, the human watched as the Trade Convoy dismantled and reformed itself until there was a tall robot standing before him.

 

“The name’s Swindle, and I might have a solution to your problems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"If you can, touch a Siege Worm as it moves by. That will teach you all you need to know about the insignificance of humanity."_  
>  \- Pastor Jack's Homiletics
> 
> _Rempong_ (Indonesian slang): fussy, complicated, troublesome, busy


	3. Good Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see a few familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years!

Suzanne Marjorie Fielding pinched the bridge of her nose once the video feed was disconnected. Her eyes were furrowed shut as she willed the oncoming headache to go away. Interacting with Hutama was always an… _aggravating_ experience. His laid-back attitude and juvenile charms might have won him the affections of his people back on Earth, but Fielding was less than impressed by her colonial competitor. Hutama’s irreverence to the colonization effort was grossly inappropriate, and those _idiotas_ from the Commonwealth were fools to elect him as their representative. She didn’t become CEO while retaining her position as CFO of American Reclamation Corporation just to play nice with some _celebrity_. She’s like to launch a _gift_ to the Commonwealth of the Pacific expressing her _appreciation_ for their choices.

 

Granted that Hutama spearheading the Tahiti2 project; bringing much needed reclamation and restoration to the ravaged French Polynesia island, and riding on a wave of popular vote to forward the funding of the Commonwealth’s merchant fleet; which practically saved Earth from global famine and a 80% drop in productivity thanks to the Commonwealth’s humanitarian efforts, was a stroke of economic brilliance. A rare praise from Fielding.

 

Interacting with the man, on the other hand, was an overwhelming disappointment that made Fielding ponder if the veneration given to Hutama was nothing more than tabloid waffling. Compared to the 20-year-old college student that he started as to the 30-something-year-old ambassador he was now, the CEO of ARC saw little difference. Hutama acted like some idealistic, bright-eyed youth with a political platform cracking jokes on how a _brewery_ was top priority for colonization. Fielding was far from pleased when he slipped that quip during their first conversation. If this was Hutama’s way of building bridges, blowing the damn thing up would impress her _marginally_ better than his current attempts.

 

Jokes don’t construct facilities, they don’t generate profits, and they certainly _don’t_ produce results. Which was the bottom line Fielding looked for. She trusted people who got things done and had their mind on the task at hand, not in the clouds and certainly _not_ in a brewery.

 

It had to be some great cosmic joke for her to be sharing a planet with someone like him.

 

She did hear from reliable sources before leaving Earth that Hutama was a staunch skeptic of the Seeding, but was made its mission leader in some hilarious twist of irony. Except Fielding wasn't laughing. In fact she wished Hutama stayed on Earth to deal with the aftermath of the Great Mistake and Inflection Point. Maybe then she could work with someone who actually cared about what they were doing here.

 

If the Polystralian showed even the slightest indication of weakness, the CEO considered a hostile takeover to elevate her dominance over this planet in the name of ARC and end Hutama’s career. Kill two birds with one stone, as the saying goes. After all, ARC was financier or contractor for various Seeding programs around the world, and Polystralia happened to be on the list. American Reclamation Corporation expected a return of their investments, and it was perfectly in their right to take matters into their own hands if they felt their ventures were not fulfilling their expectations.

 

The headache that formed after her conversation with Hutama stubbornly stayed, and had grown to a throbbing annoyance. Giving up, Fielding contacted her secretary with a push of a button.

 

“Simmons, get me an aspirin, _please_ ,” Fielding stressed her urgency

 

Her hand never left the bridge of her nose as she spoke.

 

A “yes, ma’am” was returned as confirmation that Seymour Simmons received her request, and a few seconds later the door to her office parted to reveal a sharply dressed man with hair of tightly packed curls crowning his head. In both of his hands he held a stainless steel tray where a small paper cup and a water glass rested on top. Tucked under his left arm was an electronic tablet, which Simmons constantly carried around whenever he parted from his desk.

 

The man strode through Fielding’s office in hurried steps and set the tray down in front of the CEO, who noticed the water in the glass rocking violently from the journey. Fielding thanked Simmons before grabbing the paper cup, which held a circular pill of bone-white medication, and popped the aspirin into her mouth. She reached for the glass next, fingers gripping the bulbous body to bring water to her lips. As she swallowed the pill, Simmons waited patiently without uttering a word.

 

The man was not always like this. Before Simmons worked under Fielding’s authority he was a regional director of a private contractor for the government by the name of Sector Seven. His project involved overseeing operations to retrofit the Hoover Dam with high efficiency hydro turbines. That was possibly the lowest point in Simmons’ career thanks to an accident involving a coolant leak and a rogue drone from Japan (or was it Finland?). The details were fuzzy, but Sector Seven threw Simmons out their doors without so much as a farewell. After that no other company would hire Simmons, but ARC was considerate enough to see the benefits of his work experience and overlook the recent incident that basically blacklisted him. Additionally, the Corporation was much smaller back then with little financial foundation. They assessed the risk and concluded the gamble of hiring someone with a tarnished record would _mostly_ be in their favor.

 

Simmons was made assistant to Fielding when she was personally asked by the previous CEO Michael Moderski to oversee governmental resource coordination for the Trans-Mississippi Recovery Initiative once ARC signed into the responsibility. When they first met, Fielding saw a man that was practically a ball of nerves barely clinging onto reality. His eyes constantly shifted as if expected a malfunctioning robot to jump out and attack him, and his mind was haphazardly scattered. The first week working with him was frustrating as Simmons would misplace data sheets and forget to take note of important dates unless Fielding reminded him. She would have none of that and by the second week she gave Simmons an ultimatum; get his act together or it was back to burgeoning New York City. The only thing there was a thankless job at his mother’s deli.

 

Simmons rose up to the occasion, with some patient tutelage from Fielding no less, and turned his life around. The man was no doubt grateful for the opportunity Fielding extended to him that he became loyal to her, which showed itself in full when Fielding discovered accounting duplicity within ARC. Fielding presented Simmons a choice of closing all involvement with her, thus sparing him from the repercussions that would happen once she got the FBI involved, but he stayed by her side and assisted in digging up vital evidence that would help ARC and the FBI oust those responsible of embezzlement. From then on Simmons worked close to Fielding as she climbed the corporate ladder to the top.

 

With the aspirin in her, Fielding gently set the glass back on the tray and waited for the medicine to work its magic. She didn’t have to anticipate for long. ARC Pharmaceuticals vouched for instant relief with less side effects thanks to a 10-year clinical trial involving some of those under the Corporation’s healthcare plan.

 

Resting her eyes for a moment with a hand placed over them, Fielding fully aware that her secretary was still in the office.

 

“Bad day?” Simmons probed.

 

Fielding gazed at him from above her hand.

 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she said, resisting the urge to groan. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

 

“Well, the people would like your input concerning the Old Earth Relic,” Simmons started as he brought his tablet out from under his arm. “Opinions are split down the middle with one half wishing for them to be left alone in reverence. The other wants it opened to the public for display and research.”

 

Simmons tapped his finger across the tablet as he transferred the statements submitted by both sides in support of their ideology to Fielding’s computer

 

“What do our analysts say?” Fielding inquired further after a moment of review.

 

“If the Old Earth Relic is left alone then it no longer falls under colony responsibility, which means conserving our resources. On the other hand there is a projected educational and cultural benefit in allowing public access,” Simmons reported, again transferring the mentioned data into Fielding’s possession.

 

“Do they expect a reply from me today?” Fielding asked.

 

She hoped not. Interacting with Hutama had drained her.

 

“The public is patient, but they want an answer by week’s end,” Simmons replied.

 

Fielding suppressed her sigh of relief. Good, she could use the time to focus on other tasks while contemplating over the Old Earth Relic. The CEO was pleased that the colonists reacted positively to its establishment. Many of them, despite willingly signing up for what was essentially a one-way trip into the unknown, became sentimental with some of their personal artifacts. They were, after all, the only things connecting their memory to a home very far away. To address the sudden rash of homesickness; Fielding had requested all Earth articles be donated under managerial care, to which the citizens were more than eager to fulfill. The naming of the facility was thought up by the designers who saw it fitting to add “Old,” emphasizing that their purpose on the new planet was to move humanity towards the future and, hopefully, not repeat the same mistakes that led to their downfall.

 

“Anything else on the agenda?” she continued.

 

“You also have an appointment with Professor Sumdac,” Simmons said. Fielding caught a slight twitch from the man’s hallowed cheek.

 

The reaction was not surprising.

 

Professor Isaac Sumdac headed their engineering department, but his brilliance shined with robotics, which Simmons was not a fan of.

 

Though Simmons had come far from the man whose career was nearly vaporized, he still carried his personal quirks around. For one that nervousness never did go away, but he was able to keep it under wraps. An observant person like Fielding was able to pick it up easily, as was such the case with his attitude to Professor Sumdac and how he hastily brought the requested aspirin and water. Fielding was impressed that there was water still in the cup for her to drink from the way Simmons practically sprinted to her.

 

“Notify me when he arrives,” Fielding ordered before sending Simmons back to his desk.

 

The man nodded his head before leaving, taking the tray and empty water glass with him. Left alone, Fielding swiveled her chair to her office window. A room with a view was a reminder of her achievements, so very different from her early years with ARC when she worked in the closet they called a cubicle. Now she had scenery and _natural_ light for her work space.

 

Isaac Sumdac owned his own company before working for ARC. Founding Sumdac Systems, the inventor brought great prosperity to the city of Detroit by transforming it into a hub of automaton production and innovation. Though Fielding could never understand Sumdac’s steadfast ethics against militarizing his creations, she deeply respected both his resolve and the potential he presented. For one some of ARC’s disaster mitigation projects would have never bore fruit if not for the assistance of Sumdac-brand automation expediting the production of much needed heavy equipment vehicles.

 

Sumdac and his robotics empire seemed destined to bring a better, easier life for all of America. Unfortunately, that dream quickly crashed and burned when a test run went awry. Witnesses described several large robotic heads terrorizing Detroit. The _Headmaster units_ , as they found to be called, left multiple paths of destruction in their wake as they belligerently ran through skyscrapers while raining the metropolitan area with laser cutters. Thankfully the situation was contained. Unfortunately, the Headmaster units were traced back to a Sumdac owned warehouse on the outskirts of Detroit. The moment that information was made known, the damage was done.

 

Sumdac Systems was left with plummeting stocks and a curdled public image. People who supported Sumdac for his pacifistic stance were denouncing the inventor; accusing Sumdac of deceit to shroud his true research into weapons technology. Despite asserting having no knowledge of the test run and the existence of the Headmaster units, Sumdac’s credibility was shot to pieces. America’s most beloved man swiftly became the most hated.

 

Fortunately, a much larger and prosperous American Reclamation Corporation offered Sumdac a merger of his company. In return the Corporation would use their resources to dig further into the incident that ruined Sumdac Systems.

 

ARC valued his mind, not the drama.

 

They discovered that a young engineer by the name of Henry Masterson was responsible. Considered a prodigy and a potential rising star for the company, Masterson would prove to be Sumdac System’s undoing. Despite the company’s core belief, Masterson thought to make a name for himself by taking Sumdac Systems on a different venture; military technology. Of course that would never fly with Isaac Sumdac, which was why Masterson was hosting a private demo for a few of the company’s board members on that day.

 

Masterson was never found, the engineer probably scampered out of the country during the fallout, but Sumdac’s innocence was supported. With the harassment and protests gone his contribution to ARC became paramount for the Corporation to establish itself as the world’s most powerful organization. Sumdac automatons now bore the brand of ARC, rocketing production in all of ARC’s sectors with their ingenuity

 

Fielding swiveled back to her desk when she heard the communication hail. Picking it up, Simmons informed her of Sumdac’s arrival. Fielding spotted the inventor from the video feed sitting on a chair at the reception area, his stubby legs almost dangling over the edge of his seat.

 

“Let him in,” Fielding spoke, and Simmons gave the CEO a stiff nod.

 

With the office doors opened, Sumdac slid off the chair and headed inside. He gave the secretary a well-meaning smile, but Simmons avoided Sumdac’s eyes as he shifted his gaze onto his computer monitor and pretended to busy himself. The engineer hardly noticed and passed through the doors that closed behind him.

 

The secretary fetched a handkerchief and dabbed at his sweaty forehead.

 

“Professor, it’s good to see you again,” Fielding greeted, standing up from her desk in respect with a smile on her lips. A hand was extended for him to take.

 

“The same to you as well, Miss Fielding,” Professor Sumdac replied in his accented speech as he shook her hand.

 

Fielding noticed the professor’s raccoon-shadowed eyes. They were much darker in person than on the video feed. She would have to bring this up in their conversation.

 

“Please, sit down,” ARC’s CEO motioned with her other hand to one of two leather armchairs in front of her desk.

 

100% full-grain bovine leather was a luxury that few could afford back on Earth ever since the leather business evaporated to make way for essential agriculture, but ARC would accept no less for those who were willing to make _sacrifices_. Though self-indulgent, Fielding personally found the earthy browns and organic appearance of the leather contrasting well with the steel and glass office. A standard for all of ARC’s corporate spaces, which was utilitarian in form yet contemporary in style to accompany its minimalistic structure. Fielding had an eye for complementary layouts as she enjoyed how two different designs could strengthen the appearance of each other without compromising their uniqueness.

 

Professor Sumdac graciously accepted the offer and gently seated himself. His stout body sank into the plush leather, the material squeaking as the synthetic fibers of the professor's lab coat rubbed against it.

 

“Is there anything I can offer you?” Fielding indicated to a small refreshment table she always had prepared for occasions like this.

 

Resting on its clear glass surface was a stainless steel tray. The tray was rectangular, mirroring the shape of the table. Contained within its raised borders was a set of porcelain saucers with matching cups, a metallic kettle, and a pitcher of water. Beside them was a box made of prairie yellow wood topped with a glass lid that revealed an interior divided into many compartments, all filled with an impressive assortment of powdered beverages neatly packaged into individual vacuum-sealed bags color coded and labeled for a specific flavor.

 

“One of the resource pods we recovered had a supply of masala chai,” Fielding added, knowing the professor’s preference.

 

“A masala chai sounds wonderful. It’s been ages since I’ve had a taste,” Sumdac replied, a glowing smile on his face.

 

Fielding nodded, returning a soft smile, before preparing the tea. She grabbed two of the porcelain white saucers and placed it in front of her before flipping the conical cups onto their narrow base.

 

“I hope you don’t mind instant,” Fielding spoke over her shoulder. The powdered stuff was just as good fresh. That is if someone could even get their hands on several endangered plant species to brew a batch for comparison.

 

The Great Mistake radically altered the geographical growing range for many of Earth’s produce with some species cornered into isolated pockets or completely vanishing off the map. Fielding recalled during her years at Louisiana State University reading on the last bottle of wine from the Champagne region being auctioned off at nearly 3 billion dollars. The much younger Fielding was repulsed at the extravagance, but the Fielding at present mildly regretted not having the opportunity to bid her claim on a piece of history and luxury.

 

“Not at all, Miss Fielding. Anything that reminds me of home is welcome,” Sumdac reassured the CEO.

 

Fielding proceeded to fill the beehive-shaped kettle with water and placed it on an electric burner. Taking two of the beverage packages, she opened both of them and emptied their contents into the empty cups where they filled the bottom with precise equalness. With some time to spare, she returned to her desk to strike up a conversation with Sumdac.

 

There were a special few whose company Fielding enjoyed immensely. The number of people Fielding would consider to be within her circle of friends was very small. Those she would consider to be almost family wasn’t enough to form even a circle, and Isaac Sumdac was one of the privileged few.

 

In a way the professor reminded Fielding of her own father; a man who had a vision. For Sumdac it was making automatons to ensure humanity a comfortable and secure future. For her father it was providing the best service and hardware from his three stores along the Texas Gulf Coast. Though very different businesses, both men wanted people to benefit from their trade. This, along with growing up in the devastation the Great Mistake wrought, inspired Fielding to pursue a career involved in reclaiming land lost to rising sea levels.

 

Her father was a diligent and self-reliant man, which he emphasized their virtue to an adolescent Fielding, whereas Sumdac was jovial and trusting (probably explaining how someone like Masterson managed to tank an entire company). That was where their similarities diverged.

 

Fielding owed much to her father for molding her into the woman she was now, and it was... _unfortunate_ that he along with the rest of the family couldn’t join her on the Seeding. Sumdac was nothing like her father, and in no way would he replace him and his memory, but Fielding did admit that she was not immune to the same homesickness that afflicted the colony.

 

Of course she found ways to mask its effects. The duration of mental blankness that came whenever an old memory resurfaced diminished over time, and the hollowness she felt at the center of her chest barely registered when there were multiple colony affairs to attend to. It wouldn’t be appropriate if she was caught staring silently into space. There was the option of seeking psychiatric advice, but the colony’s mental health counselors were booked for the next two weeks.

 

Yes, there was the risk that she was making this personal, and she was well aware of ARC’s policy on inter-workplace interactions. However, Fielding would never place both of their careers in jeopardy just because she wanted a moment with someone who wasn’t demanding something from her every waking second. Besides, the professor appeared to enjoy his visits just as much as she was, so there wasn’t anything unbecoming about their meetings.

 

“How are you fairing, Professor?” Fielding started the conversation. “

 

“Better, Miss Fielding,” Sumdac replied.

 

“ _Suzanne_ , please,” she interrupted. “I think your contributions to the Corporation has earned you an upstanding reputation.”

 

There was an amused twinkle in her eyes, which Sumdac caught and chuckled in reply.

 

“Things are better, Suzanne,” he continued. “The engineers and I want to thank you for constructing the Thorium Reactor. The workshop has never run better, we’ve gone through three days without so much as a flicker. And once that Repair Facility is completed we can finally install an automated assembly line.”

 

Sumdac rambled on, much to Fielding’s amusement. The professor had a tendency to go at lengths about his work, which wasn’t a problem for Fielding. Sumdac’s passion was admirable, but it did mean he tended to forget the present.

 

“But what about _you_?” Fielding stressed once there was a break in their one-sided chat.

 

A swift hush followed as Sumdac blinked vacantly before he placed a hand over his chin, his eyes narrowed in thought.

 

“I… don’t know, good I suppose?” he eventually replied. “It’s very different here than on Earth. I’m grateful that we can actually breathe the atmosphere without one of those Clean Air Generator, but everything smells… so strange. Of course that’s nothing to complain about when our children can walk freely without having an asthma attack. Sari seems ecstatic.”

 

Ah, Sari Sumdac. The professor’s child was a bit of an enigma. There were no records of a mother, but Sumdac had himself registered as Sari’s sole caretaker. There were _rumors_ that the professor engaged in a one-night stand, which was a story the tabloid ate up during the Headmaster scandal with “irrefutable proof,” as they claim, of his partner’s existence. Their proof was nothing more than a manipulated image stock, which a reverse image search would reveal the fabrication. Fielding tended to not involve herself in personal affairs and unfounded gossip, but her personal hypothesis was that Sumdac, as was his generous and kind nature, took an orphaned Sari under his wing. There were laws that would allow a biological caretaker to bar all and any contact with their children should they choose, which would explain why Sari’s parentage was untraceable. Also the fact that Sumdac prohibited any genealogical tests be done on her would align perfectly with a closed adoption, but it did add to the child’s secrecy.

 

“And how is Sari?” Fielding asked.

 

“She’s adapting well to the planet. Possibly better than her peers,” Sumdac replied, a faint smile graced his lips.

 

No doubt the professor was proud that his daughter was taking everything in stride. A bit expected as the child had little recollection of Earth. There was no love loss for her with the planet of their origin.

 

“However, I think this might have alienated her a bit.” Sumdac’s voice quickly became somber.

 

Fielding frowned at this information.

 

Just as with the professor, she liked Sari. The girl’s youthful exuberance was infectious, though her boisterousness could be worked on a little. Nevertheless, the professor’s daughter made an impression on the CEO, who found Sari to be very curious and adventurous.

 

The child had a habit of wandering around the colony into sectors forbidden to her, which often resulted in her being escorted by colony security or directed out by one of the employees. There were a few times Sari was found _outside_ the colony walls, much to the distress of those managing the safety of the colonists. Such an event earned them a reprimand from Fielding herself. “Do your damn job or you’ll find yourselves packing to a new colony” were her exact words.

 

At the same time, Fielding was impressed a 6-year-old was able to detect and exploit flaws in their security. It was like every ventilation duct and blind spot was known to the girl. No detail was overlooked. Sari seemed to be more observant than she left on, or she had a knack for memorizing blueprints (which were probably scattered around for all to see in her father’s office). Their security did improve as a benefit from Sari’s antics, but the child seemed to outsmart them one way or the other until she grew bored.

 

“Alienated in what way?” Fielding inquired.

 

“Well… Sari didn't say much about it, but…” Sumdac trailed off and recalled yesterday when he and Sari were having an evening meal together, a rare occasion with the professor’s responsibility as head of the engineering department.

 

\---

 

_The professor could tell something troubled his daughter by the way she poked listlessly at the salad on her plate. Normally she would have begged for a burger, which he blamed himself for spoiling her palate with convenience food back on Earth. Instead the girl hadn't even made a peep since they sat down. Sumdac ruled out food quality, the produce they got was nothing to turn your nose at. Their hydroponics was state of the art to provide fresh and nutritious food thanks to ARC’s resources._

 

_“How was your day, Sari?” Sumdac initiated the conversation, gently probing his daughter._

 

_There was a beat of silence before Sari registered her father’s question._

 

_“Huh? Oh. Today was good… I guess,” the girl evaded the question, her eyes still fixated on the plate._

 

_“Learn anything today from Tutor Bot?” Sumdac continued, mentioning one of his creations specifically built for Sari’s educational needs._

 

_“Not much, just about Earth and stuff,” Sari replied as she chased a cherry tomato with her fork._

 

_Seeing that he was going nowhere, Sumdac unwillingly relented. An uneasy silence fell between them, a first for them._

 

_“Dad, why did we leave Earth?”_

 

_The silence abruptly ended, causing the professor to look at his daughter quizzically. She had abandoned her utensil, hands on her lap, as she stared at her father. Her eyes were wide and confused as they sought an answer from Sumdac._

 

_“What do you mean, Sari?”_

 

_“I mean… everyone seems to hate it here, but they all came anyways,” Sari confessed. “Aside from you, me, and Aunt Fielding, everyone wants to go back.”_

 

_His daughter’s words only confused Sumdac further. He knew some of his employees were ambivalent on the issue, but never were they outright resentful. He remained silent to let his daughter continue._

 

_“I met the other kids today and tried to get them to like me, like you said,” Sari said, bowing her head._

 

_Sumdac nodded in understanding. He encouraged his daughter to connect with those of her age on the colony to compensate for those years she spent isolated back on Earth. ARC was heavily involved on Seeding projects, which placed many employees and their families at risk from their own people; who were desperate for a place on the colony ships._

 

_“I asked them if they thought being on an alien planet was awesome, because I thought it was,” Sari recalled. “But they called me a weirdo. That something was wrong with me because I acted like Earth didn't matter.”_

 

_Sari’s voiced grew thick with emotions and her hands tightened at the hem of her yellow dress. Tears began to pool in her eyes, reflecting brightly from the lights around them. Sumdac realized the impact those words had on his daughter, and swiftly left his chair to kneel by her side._

 

_“It’s not my fault I don't remember Earth as much as they did,” Sari continued, furiously blinking the tears out as they started to roll down her cheeks._

 

_“Sari, I’m sorry things didn’t go so well,” Sumdac comforted the girl, placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. “But here we can start over and make things better. Your friends just need time to adjust. Eventually they’ll come to understand you.”_

 

_“If they hate it here so much, they should just launch themselves back to Earth in their cryo pods,” Sari nearly snarled out the words._

 

_“Sari Sumdac!” the professor admonished his daughter, surprised at the harsh venom in her voice._

 

_Sari looked up at her father with wide eyes. She was equally incredulous at her own ferocity. Her expression quickly became guilt-ridden and her gaze lowered._

 

_“I’m sorry, Dad,” she apologized meekly._

 

_The professor’s features softened._

 

_“Can I be excused, dad? I’m not really hungry,” she said a beat later._

 

_Sumdac nodded silently and watched his daughter leave the table._

 

\---

 

“She hasn’t mentioned the subject after, but I’m concerned she’s avoiding trying to talk about it,” the professor added once he finished

 

Fielding was listening with rapt attention and took the opportunity to speak. A shrill whistle cut her off and she turned in her chair to see the beehive kettle shooting a stream of steam. Excusing herself, Fielding parted from the desk and headed to remove the kettle from the burner and gently poured the heated water into the cups. The powdered masala chai, originally looking like dark desert sand, transformed into a warm earthen color and quickly filled the room with its fragrance of mixed spices. Fielding closed her eyes and deeply took in the scent; allowing the cinnamon, cloves, and ginger to tantalize her nose with delightful prickles.

 

She set down the kettle to stir the mixture with a metal spoon before tossing the empty packets into a disposal bin. With the tea well mixed, she set the spoon aside and gingerly held both saucers in each hand. She turned to see Sumdac with a distant, but pleasant look on his face. The professor was relishing the smell as much as she was, if the slight dimples of his cheeks were any indication. Fielding approached the table and carefully placed the saucer and its accompanied cup in front of Sumdac before she sat down with her drink in hand.

 

The professor thanked her before raising his cup to blow the heat away. Fielding mirrored his actions as well, holding the cup below her lips as she blew at the curling steam that was rising from the tea. Trusting that she won’t scald her tongue at the first sip, the CEO slowly raised the rim of the cup to meet her lips and drank with eyes closed.

 

The cardamom sang the loudest as it filled her mouth with a note of complex flavors. Herbal, citrusy, spicy, and cool at the same time, there was no one word that could accurately describe its character. The spices quickly followed, kicking at her senses. The peppercorn and anise pleasantly numbed her tongue before warmth flared throughout her body like newborn fire. Finally the creaminess of the masala chai flowed in like silken fabric to temper the growing heat and comfort the excited tongue. All melded harmoniously together in the tea, bringing a sense of coziness to Fielding.      

 

A sound of satisfaction from Sumdac caused Fielding to look above her cup before setting it down to beam at Sumdac.

 

“This is absolutely wonderful,” the professor complimented.

 

“I’m flattered. Please, have as much as you like, Professor,” Fielding offered.

 

“Isaac is fine, Suzanne. We’re in the company of good friends,” Isaac spoke mirthfully.

 

Fielding couldn’t help but chuckle richly at the pleasantry.

 

“I can have a word with Sari the next time she visits me,” she proposed once the laughter died down. “If you are fine with that.”

 

“I don’t mind that at all. Sari does look up to you, so maybe you’ll find a way to coax her out,” Sumdac agreed and took another sip from his cup.

 

“Hopefully I won’t have to send any pink slips and kick someone out of the colony,” Fielding humored herself.

 

Their hearty laughter permeated room, but remained within its soundproof walls. Outside the door Simmons typed away at his computer, oblivious to the merriment that happened inside of his boss’ office.

 

For him it was just another bureaucratic day on an alien planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The only reason you are here is because a committee picked who to send. Ponder why they chose you instead of their own self-interest."_  
>  \- Suzanne Marjorie Fielding, _Transplanetary Management, Methods, and Resources_


End file.
